


Room for the Weak

by surveycorpsjean



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Game Spoilers, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, OT3, Pining, Polyamory, Post-Game(s), Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:34:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28345479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surveycorpsjean/pseuds/surveycorpsjean
Summary: It's a bit ironic that the god of life should fall for the dead.
Relationships: Achilles/Patroclus, Achilles/Patroclus (Hades Video Game), Achilles/Patroclus/Zagreus (Hades Video Game), Achilles/Zagreus (Hades Video Game), Patroclus/Zagreus (Hades Video Game), background hades/persephone/nyx
Comments: 86
Kudos: 734





	Room for the Weak

**Author's Note:**

> i spent 30 hours trying to romance thanatos and then ended up writing this, smh

Mortal life is kind of funny, if you think about it.

Their eternal damnation is determined by a very short (sometimes shorter) amount of time spent in a flesh and blood body – and what you _do_ with said meatsack determines exaltation, or everlasting hell spent in a Tartarus cage. Kinda' rigged, if you ask Zagreus.

(Spoiler, but you’ll pass the test much better if you don’t cheat on your wife. Or fuck an animal. Or take innocent life. Uh, the Gods aren’t really…a good shining example of this).

Zagreus has, somewhat, made peace with the fact that he will never freely walk the surface. Knowing he can only breathe fresh air for minutes at a time, Elysium is the closest he’ll ever get to the pine trees and fields of corn that mother speaks of.

It’s not too bad. Elysium air isn’t as crisp (if you could call it air at all), but the grass is green and the river runs free, and Zagreus has, more or less, a few reasons to hover around before crossing through to the Styx temple.

Achilles has been bugging him about it for at least an attic calendar year, which sounds like a long time, but god-hours and mortal clocks are two separate timetables that sometimes screw up more than you’d think.

 _“Let us feed you, lad,”_ Achilles said, dutifully at his post, tall in all his semi-immortal glory. _“We owe you more than a meal.”_

Zagreus didn’t decline. He’s uh, not sure he could, truly. But that’s not to say he didn’t… _procrastinate._

There are a multitude of reasons as to why Zagreus wouldn’t go pattering into his mentor’s sweet little Elysium cottage home. So many, that Zagreus doesn’t have enough deaths to list them all. Including this one.

So Zagreus does his job, dies, and ‘forgets’ to stop by and say hello. Oopsie.

Hell is everchanging, and it’s a good excuse. Achilles has a well of patience, but Zagreus knows it’s running short when he claps Zagreus on the shoulder and says, “We’ll anticipate your arrival next time.”

No more questions. It’s a demand, not a request.

“Ah,” Zagreus says, still dripping blood from the pool. He wrings out the hem of his chiton, fully backed into a wall. “Of course, sir, wouldn’t dream of missing it.”

And that led him here. Through Tartarus, past good old Lernie (always a hoot, that one), and into the suburban land of Elysium.

Most exalted choose to spend their eternity fighting for glory. But not all, friends. Not all.

Homes are structured up the mountain, scattered variously through fields of flowers and butterflies. Hell’s pathways may be everchanging, but some of his father’s handiwork stays the same.

The door is wooden. A normal door, a normal handle. Nothing as shiny and sculptured as the interior design back home. This particular door could be the finest in Elysium, if only it’s owners would request so. But their humility is part of their charm (and don’t tell anyone that Zagreus said so).

He knocks, because he’s brave. Or at least, he hopes to be. What fool can face death without fear, but tremble at the sight of a _doorhandle?_ Not this god – not Zagreus, son of Hades –

He jolts like a calf when the door opens. Of course it opens – action, consequence –

“Zagreus,” Achilles greets. “You made it.”

In all truth, it’s quite unfair that mortal shades (or half-mortals) are still taller than he, Zagreus, a very not mortal _._

Still, Achilles has beauty in his stature. Strong and imposing to contrast the softness of his voice and the hair riveting down his back in loose blonde curls. Zagreus shouldn’t – can _never_ – look too closely. But when he’s standing in the doorway in front of you, it’s hard not to.

The legend says he cut off a lock of his hair for the one he loved.

“Good evening, sir,” Zagreus greets. “Or day.”

“Or day,” Achilles repeats. “Bleeding much?”

Zagreus looks down, then up. He’s a little banged up, but, “I’d say no more than usual.”

“Well done. Come on in.”

Their home smells nice. It’s a vivid difference from the sulfur in Asphodel. No, it – it’s like incense. Calm, and warm. Zagreus shouldn’t be surprised; technically speaking, it wouldn’t be impossible to access goods down here, if you knew which boatman to trade with.

“Run into trouble out there?” Achilles prods.

“Just the right amount, I think.” Zagreus looks up and around the house, taking in the simple sweetness of their home. “This is much nicer than I pictured.” Achilles closes the door behind him, and Zagreus is quick to say, “Not that I expected anything _less_ it’s – well, would you believe I’ve never been inside an Elysium home? Funny, that.”

“I would,” Achilles agrees. “Most choose not to settle up here.”

“I suppose an endless life of friendly duels and merry drinking _would_ be the preferred afterlife.” Zagreus hesitates, “But it would be just as rare to reach Elysium with your life partner.”

Achilles nods, “Indeed. I find myself indebted to you, despite your words.”

Zagreus inhales. He hadn’t meant to – he wasn’t trying to _–_

“You don’t owe me anything sir, please. You know it was my pleasure to help.”

“The modesty is unbecoming of you,” Achilles teases, and Zagreus feels his face heat. “Are you trying to prove your manners?”

Zagreus crosses his arms defensively, but offers a smile.

“Quit reading me, you know I can’t stand it.”

Zagreus jolts as his blade is gently tugged from his shoulder. His instinct is to fight the grip, but he forces himself calm at Achilles’ probing.

“Relax,” Achilles says, and _dammit_ _,_ if only he didn’t purr the word. “Stay. We have food.”

Eating is optional in the afterlife, for most enjoy it from habit. Zagreus has no prior experiences, and his body doesn’t require substance, but it sure is nice.

Zagreus forces a breath, hoping to relieve the tension in his shoulders. _It’s okay, it’s okay._ He watches Achilles effortlessly lift his weapon to a rack, right next to two identical spears.

“Right. It smells quite good in here – where’s Patroclus?”

“Cooking. He was always the better chef than I,” Achilles explains. “Although, not by much, do be forewarned.”

“I can hear you,” Patroclus calls. His tone is low, hoarse, and familiar.

Zagreus is repentant to say that his heart wretches about in his chest. It’s a painful thud _,_ a tight squeeze that he can’t decipher the intent of.

_Stop it, me. If I can slay hydras, then I can do this._

Achilles leads them through the entryway, and into the larger room of his home. Green light comes from the windows, and candles illuminate from a hanging door. A small dining table sits amid the center, and a kitchen lines the wall with a burning stove.

“See if I ever cook for you again,” Patroclus scowls. His clothing is more casual than what Zagreus has previously seen him wear. Even with the usual frown on his face, his eyes are _lighter._ He has one guess as to why.

Achilles still works for his father in the house, but Zagreus hasn’t spoken to Patroclus since…well…since he reunited him with Achilles, and he up and left the field by the Lethe.

The quest was a good distraction. A good deed to put his heart into. Zagreus thought, truly, if Achilles’ heart belonged to another, it was best to just – burn the candle at both ends. If Zagreus couldn’t be happy, then maybe Achilles could be.

It was impossible to dislike Patroclus anyways. His gentle, heartbroken tone, the prose that he spoke to no one – even the trim of his beard and the pteruges that slipped up his thigh as he lay in the grass – oh how difficult it was.

By the end of the ordeal, Zagreus walked away more conflicted and heartbroken than when his endeavors began.

Ah well.

“Smells lovely!” Zagreus grins. “Sorry it took so long to get here. You know how wretches are.”

“Hello stranger,” Patroclus greets. Achilles attempts to take over stirring a pot of stew, but Patroclus effortlessly yanks the wooden spoon away from his reach. “I take it you found your way without trouble.”

“Only a little bit of blood,” Zagreus says playfully. “You’re quite off the beaten path. I assume you don’t get many visitors this high on the mountain.”

“And I would prefer to keep it that way,” Patroclus points with the spoon. Achilles makes for the spoon again. Another failed attempt. “Don’t go telling your friends.”

There’s something charismatic about Patroclus, even in his grouchiness. His voice is soft like Achilles, but more stern with his words. After one simple meeting, it was obvious that Patroclus had Achilles by the heart.

Their love is the simplest kind. Likely the purest that Zagreus has ever seen, even in its flaws. And he would rather die _enterally,_ than ever, _ever_ come between it, despite whatever his heart might say.

Pain is easy. It grounds you.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Zagreus grins. “Although, Lernie might prefer a visit. He does enjoy firelight.”

Patroclus looks unamused.

“Lernie?”

“He named the hydra,” Achilles explains.

“The _bone hydra?”_

“Well, everyone deserves a name,” Zagreus defends.

Patroclus shakes his head, “I am forever amazed that you have managed to escape the underworld so many times.”

“Well, mother claims I am quite charismatic,” Zagreus says, picking at his gauntlet. “But I’d say that Achilles sir deserves most the credit. He taught me to fight, you’d know. Wouldn’t have made it a foot out the door without him.”

“Only to fight,” Achilles corrects. “Your silver tongue is a trait learned from no one. The gods favor you for it.”

Patroclus snorts – a laugh that has Zag’s attention snatched like a dog.

“Is that so?”

Achilles is leaning against one of the counters now, watching Patroclus as he seasons the stew. He’s not open with his affections, but having known him for so long, Zagreus can see the warm look in his eyes plain as day. It hurts, but it’s wonderful. He’s happy, but wants to cry.

“Indeed. Even as a lad, he was often mouthing off in training.”

“Now, I remember being properly scorned for it,” Zagreus interjects.

“I’ve seen my Achilles in war. I wouldn’t want this man for a teacher,” Patroclus says, side-eying him. Achilles looks away, smooth and…playful, maybe. It’s jarring.

“Sit lad. We’ll eat soon.”

It’s not the words that wring his heart like a towel – but the easy way that Achilles sets his hand at Patroclus’ hip as he passes behind him. It’s so smooth and easy, effortless and a motion of habit, and for a moment, Zagreus feels like he’s getting an insight to what they were before, when they lived on the surface, full of blood and breath.

Patroclus meets his eye. It’s like lightning; like Zeus’ power straight down his back. Chilling and powerful – and a _shade,_ nothing but a shade, but Zagreus finds himself looking away.

“Sure, sure,” Zagreus turns. “Thank you for the hospitality.”

* * *

Zagreus brings Ambrosia, and they split it in three glasses.

He’s shared drink with Achilles many times before, but never with his – his…you know… _partner._

The word stirs up his insides. Before, the thought made him sick, but now it’s like butterflies and magma and it’s even bloody worse.

“You’ve been more of a stranger, as of late,” Patroclus says, in that monotone drawl. “Still hunting for holes in your father’s defenses?”

They sit around the wooden table, around warm food and good drink and candlelight and the green glow of Elysium through the window; and it’s all very dreamlike. Nothing like the hell he just fought through to get here.

“Yes,” Zagreus answers, because this easy, neutral ground. “It’s strange work, but I enjoy mapping out the domain. There are flaws that my father is very unaware of.”

“To your own amusement I’m sure.”

“Oh, most definitely.” Zagreus rubs at his sore shoulder, and thinks of the wall he was tossed into hours before. “However, uh. Defenses are improving as they should be.”

“The master’s reputation depends on zero chance of escape,” Achilles agrees. “It’s good work lad, keep at it.”

The praise hits like it always does. Full tingles from his head to his burning toes. Zagreus turns the soup spoon in his fingers and blinks through it.

“Sir, you know father would reconsider your contract, if you truly wished to stay here full time.”

“Nonsense,” Achilles says. “I enjoy my work. It gives me purpose.”

Zagreus laughs, “Standing around silently?”

Achilles’ smile is lenient, and attractive, “Mm.”

“No, please take him,” Patroclus waves. “He would drive me to insanity without work to do.”

Achilles looks fond as he takes a sip, “You wound me.”

“Justly so.”

It’s not flirting, if you didn’t know them. But it’s like having his chest torn apart by wretches – a feeling Zagreus has known _intimately,_ and he’d almost prefer it to the easy tension in this room. Zagreus knew it would be bad – but it’s worse than he thought.

“What do you do in your peace, Patroclus sir?” Zagreus asks, to rid him of this feeling.

“What I ever do. Enjoy the quiet. As a shade, there isn’t a life to live. Only existence.”

Zagreus can relate, on some level or another.

“We are grateful to spend it here,” Achilles interjects. “Grateful, to you.”

Zagreus picks at his bracer again, and tries for a smile, “You flatter me sir, I was only a messenger.”

“You’re embarrassing him,” Patroclus says.

“Then thank him, and I’ll cease.”

“He knows.” Patroclus looks to him – that tiger’s stare, a warrior in a gentle man’s clothing. “He’s here.”

When Achilles turns to smile at him, Zagreus can no longer stand the gaze of them both. It peers into him, lasers into his insides and churns them into ash.

He stands.

“I ought to go – you know how it is, on the clock and such. Theseus is likely roaring a storm waiting for me – poor Asterius will get the brunt of it if I don’t make haste.” Zagreus bows, “The food was wonderful, thank you.” 

Achilles’ frown hurts him personally.

“You’re leaving already?”

“I’ll come by again,” Zagreus blurts, because he’s a fool.

If you weren’t paying attention, you wouldn’t see it – but Zagreus becomes painfully aware of the hand Patroclus slides onto Achilles’ thigh to calm him. 

“Let me give you something for your travels,” Patroclus says. “Some obols for Charon.”

Zagreus smiles, “You really don’t need to.”

“I would anyways, if I were still by that river. Here, take it.”

Zagreus accepts the gift gratefully. Achilles walks him to the door and helps him slide his sword back into his sheath, and the gentleness of his hands makes his heart stutter.

“Thank you,” Achilles says warmly, “for finally stopping by.”

“Sorry it took a while to get around.” Zagreus rubs the back of his hair – then rights his laurel when he accidentally bumps it. “Uh, you know how it is. Eternally changing mazes and such.”

“I’m sure Charon would give you a ride if you simply wanted to _visit,_ ” Achilles says. It sounds like the scornful tone of a teacher, and it makes Zagreus wince.

He laughs nervously, “Ah well, you know father – he’d ask why I’m in Elysium without working and – ”

“I was kidding, lad,” Achilles smiles. He reaches over to fix Zag’s laurel correctly, a sweet gesture. _Fatherly,_ Zagreus thinks, with no lack of stomach bile. “Do be careful out there.”

Zagreus waves him off, “Please, if I die, you’ll just see me at the house.”

Achilles doesn’t look pleased with that answer, but he steps to the side as Patroclus comes to see him off as well. A warm hand gets set at Achilles’ waist, and it’s very hard not to look at it.

“Ignore him, he worries for you.”

“Pat, please.”

“Finish your work, stranger,” Patroclus continues. “But if the fates lead you here again, you’re welcome to stay.”

They look like such a pair, standing side by side, tall and lovely. Fated, no doubt – and it’s a beautiful thing. Patroclus stands a little taller, his hand wide and fitting on Achilles’ side, and it steals the breath from him.

“I look forward to it, sirs,” Zagreus smiles. He waves, turns, and when the door shuts behind him, he rubs a hand across the soreness in his chest.

He breathes in, then out.

Butterflies cross the path in front of him. Elysium sits still and quiet, and Zagreus takes it in, before he reaches the roaring of the stadium.

Onwards.

* * *

Zagreus has grown more confident in defeating his father in battle. The pact of punishment puts him in his place, but he can at least secure a win in every other battle.

Hades sinks to his knees, Zagreus collects the bounty, and he doesn’t get very far, out in Greece. His heart isn’t quite in it today (day, it’s day).

Zagreus walks several feet in the snow, and then slides to his knees. The coldness of the ice wets his leggings and seeps into the supernatural warmth of his skin. He can feel the Styx calling him already, not even halfway to his mother’s garden.

It runs through him. A throb of pain that doesn’t just flow through his blood.

His heart aches.

Zagreus plants his hands in the snow and groans.

 _“Please,_ ” he begs aloud. “Goddess Aphrodite, take this love from me.”

There’s no answer, of course. The Styx takes him back in a roaring of pain, and Zagreus gets one last breath before he dies, squeezing his fingers into the cold snow.

* * *

You could say it started young. Age is an odd thing, when you’re a god.

His affections were misplaced. It’s easy to assume your attachment to a tall, handsome, and generally polite mentor is the fault of your own daddy issues. But as Zagreus grew older, and the timeless years passed beneath the underworld, Zagreus became achingly aware of his feelings for Achilles.

Zagreus knew it was impossible, even before he was brave enough to gift him fine drinks. He dated others, to his own failures – which was wrong of him in the first place. To play pretend relationship when your heart belongs to another. It wasn’t his brightest moment. 

But now he thinks of Patroclus’ hand at his mentor’s hip, and he thinks of how it _belongs_ there. And the feeling isn’t jealousy, like he though it would be. Instead, it’s just a terrible yearning. A _dream,_ and nothing but.

He distracts himself.

“Look’it you, good boy,” Zagreus coos, scraping his fingers through Cerberus’ thick fur. “Keeping father in check? Of course you are, good good boy.”

Cerberus rumbles a happy sound, one head leaning against him, the middle head opening a sleepy eye to observe. Ick, he’s very in need of a bath. Uh, not it.

“That was a lucky shot,” Hades grumbles. He’s already stationed back at his desk, scribbling away at parchment. Zagreus grins at him.

“You can thank Artemis for that one.”

Hades looks unimpressed. He doesn’t glance up from his work, but he does ask, “Headed out once more?”

Zagreus drags his fingers along the laurel resting by his ear. He thinks of the way Achilles and Patroclus looked at him as he was leaving, and it screws up his stomach into nice little knots.

“Not yet, I don’t think. You can rest easy for a while.”

Hades rolls his eyes and snorts.

“Do see your mother before leaving.”

“Sure, sure.”

Zagreus doesn’t look into the west hall. He knows Achilles isn’t there.

The house is different these days. Orpheus sings more, filling the halls with light white noise amongst the shades mumbling by the walls. You can always hear Hypno’s shrill voice checking in souls at the door, but he’s been more productive as of late; likely the biproduct of his mother’s gentle encouragement.

“You’ve returned, my child,” Nyx greets. Zagreus ducks his head respectfully.

“I have! And with a gift, you see.”

Nyx accepts the bottle, but sees straight through his bullshit.

“Thank you – but you look troubled. Was your journey productive?”

Zagreus winces. It’s hard to sneak past an omnipotent being such as night itself. Nyx knows when he’s lying; Zagreus assumes she chooses to remain silent on various matters. Still.

“No, no – I mean, _yes_ it was great. Beat dad, died in the snow like usual – just a bit tired, is all.”

Nyx’s flat stare relays disbelief. Her hair floats without weight, stars reflecting in the strands as they flicker around her face.

“You are weary?”

Zagreus scratches at his chin, “Just a little…”

Nyx stares a moment further, before she blinks slow and nods.

“Rest child, I’ll assure no one disturbs your chambers.”

Nyx always knows when to prod, and when to leave a subject alone. It’s something Zagreus deeply appreciates her for.

“Thank you, Nyx. Truly.”

When he enters his room, the portal doorways glow red behind him. Locked.

Zagreus nearly slumps entirely, the tension in his shoulders melting into an ache. He shouldn’t feel pain after emerging through the pool, but this particular ache rests in his heart, not his bones.

He sits on the edge of his bed, and stares numbly at the mess about his room. He unclips the skulls on his shoulder, and they clink into the fine bedsheets.

“Soon,” he mumbles. The mirror churns mystic circles, haunting his reflection. “I’ll get over it soon.”

* * *

Zagreus doesn’t return out of choice. Well – of course he _wants_ to see them again – but it’s more like…the fates land him right at their doorstep.

He almost wants to complain. It’s all a bit presumptuous, really. But it’s not like he can control the changing pathways either.

“You’ve returned,” Patroclus greets.

“Only a little worse for wear,” Zagreus jokes. “It smells delightful in here.”

“It’s tea. Acquired through no lack of bribery from Charon. Come, Achilles is in the garden.”

Patroclus gestures for him to follow, so Zagreus quickly hangs up his sword and wipes his dirty hands on his leggings.

Patroclus’ hair is braided today. Not all of it – but bits and pieces to contain the curls, and Zag’s traitorous brain fills him with images of Achilles sat behind him, sweetly braiding the pieces. Zagreus clears his throat to interrupt the thought. 

“Tea from Charon, you say?”

“Here.” Patroclus passes him a cup as he steps in the kitchen, and pours a second. “Try it. The flavor comes from beyond the mortal sea. Oh, and give this one to Achilles.”

Zagreus stands there awkwardly – now holding a cup in each hand.

“Ah, but – isn’t this yours, sir?”

“I’ll brew another,” Patroclus says. His matter-of-fact way of speaking leaves little room for argument, so Zagreus takes a sip and nods.

“Thank you, sir – this is, _very_ good, wow. What strange flavor.”

Patroclus looks amused, his eyes illuminating on his stony face. The flickering of the stove fire makes him look handsome, lighting under his sharp cheekbones. Zagreus feels his heart hammer, quite familiarly at this point.

Patroclus sets a second pot of water on the fire, and speaks low.

“I was going to tell you it’s hot, but it appears you’re immune.”

Zagreus licks over his top lip, and only just registers the heat of the tea.

“Not immune,” Zagreus laughs. “Just a little fire resistant.”

“Mmm. Achilles is through that door – do warn him about the heat.”

“Ah, of course.”

Zagreus follows instruction. He takes another sip of his own tea as he exits through the back hall, and out a garden doorway. Elysium’s glow meets him in a blue and bright hue, and the greenery of the yard smells pleasant and refreshing.

A stream runs behind their home. It’s very small – and as Zagreus approaches, he can feel the power radiating from it. A trickle of the Lythe, it seems.

Butterflies are attracted to the plants here. The temperature is cool, but not cold. _Perfect,_ you could say. Unearthly. Almost too much so.

Zagreus finds Achilles sitting by a pond. Fish are swimming in circles, visible through the vivid clearness of the water. There’s no breeze – no possible wind down here – but Achilles looks completely at peace.

He’s grown used to seeing Achilles dutifully firm at his post, a spear in hand and his gaze right forward. Achilles is equally intimidating as much as he is friendly – always nabbing Zagreus on his way through the hall. He and Nyx share a similar power of knowing when he’s uneasy. Father is still none the wiser.

Achilles senses his presence right away; a soldier’s instinct that he ingrained deeply in Zagreus.

“You returned.”

“The fates led me here,” Zagreus grins. He takes a seat in the grass, taking care not to spill either cup. “With tea. From Patroclus, that is. Oh! It’s hot, too – be careful.”

“I see, thank you lad.” Achilles accepts the cup, and looks him over skeptically. “Gods, Zagreus, you’re a mess. What happened?”

Zagreus looks down at his clothes. He is rather…muddy. Ah, what an embarrassment – he should’ve taken a dip before knocking on the door.

“Oh, you know how it is. Lernie decided to take me for a spin through Asphodel’s magma.”

Achilles only blinks, and Zagreus feels his face heat as his eyes skim down his body. He subconsciously tucks his feet under himself, trying to hide where they’re glowing sparks in the grass.

“I can see that. Pat, will you pass me a rag?”

Zag’s eyes dart to the house entryway, where Patroclus had only stepped foot out the door. He pauses, rolls his eyes, and steps back in the house.

Zagreus scrambles, “Oh, I’m sorry sir – I can go bathe and return – ”

“You’re fine,” Achilles stops him. “There’s just dirt in your wounds. Does it not hurt?”

Zagreus looks down to his scraped arms, and feels over the slice in his cheek, courtesy of Asterius.

“It’s fine, I’ll be clean when I die.”

Achilles doesn’t look very happy with that answer. Patroclus returns, and tosses the cloth over Zagreus’ head, and into Achilles’ hand. He blinks quickly, turning to watch Patroclus sit beside him on the grass, then whipping around when Achilles dips the cloth into the pond, and extends an open hand.

“Um,” Zagreus blinks, and sets aside his cup. “I can do it, sir.”

“Just humor him,” Patroclus mumbles, leaning his elbow on a knee – and do _not_ look up his skirt, no matter how tempting it is. Do not, do not. “He’ll be a nuisance otherwise.”

“I thought you loved me,” Achilles teases.

“Most times.” 

Zagreus’ heart aches so much, in that moment, that he numbly allows Achilles to clean between his fingers. Shades don’t hold much warmth in their bodies, because they’re not bodies at all. But Achilles isn’t cold either, and that might be why he jumps a little.

“Does that hurt?” Achilles asks.

“Just a sting. It’s fine sir, really. Your drink will get cold.”

Achilles ignores him, digging the dirt out of the slice in his arm with a firm efficiency. His touch isn’t _tender,_ but it’s thorough, and it makes his stomach flutter anyways.

He remembers days of training. Of hands that gripped his own and pulled him to his feet. To the mature presence behind him, showing him how to hold a spear. Gentle encouragement. All signs of his downfall.

Zagreus forces himself not to jump out of his skin when Patroclus sets a rough hand at his thigh.

“What happened here, stranger?”

He fingers a rip in his legging and tugs. With it, goes his heart.

“Ah, you see,” Zagreus blinks. “When you um. Step on a trigger plate, those spikes will fly loose sometimes, believe it or not.”

“Sounds dangerous.”

“I think that’s the point.”

“A problem to inform the master of,” says Achilles. Zagreus swallows thickly as he rinses the rag in the pond, and takes his other hand to clean.

“Yes, well…I have, many times before – but replacing traps takes a few business days. Or so I’ve been told.” The rag skims across the broken skin on his knuckles. Zagreus shivers, and forces his voice straight. “But enough of me! What have you lot been up to?”

“There isn’t exactly an agenda in the afterlife. Unless you’re special enough to be given a purpose,” Patroclus sips, and Achilles ignores the praise.

“Pat has been exploring through Elysium,” Achilles explains. “Neither of us have much an interest in sparring anymore, but Pat meets some interesting souls out there. That’s how we acquired the tea.”

“Incidental,” Patroclus says.

“He tries to be prickly, but he’s quite charismatic,” Achilles corrects.

Zagreus feels his heart slam into his stomach, when Achilles reaches upwards to wipe down his cheek with no hesitation. The cloth is damp and cold and he presses tediously along his wound, sweeping down his jaw.

“I know it, sir,” Zagreus wobbles. “We used to sit by the Lethe and exchange words. Although…I did feel like a bit of a nuisance at first.”

“You were,” Patroclus says, deadbeat. Zagreus snorts, sensing the jest in his tone. “But more interesting than the rest, I’d say.” He pauses to take another drink, “You don’t meet many princes of the underworld.”

“That’s a compliment,” Achilles translates. “Don’t mind him.”

“Well, thanks,” Zagreus deadpans. Patroclus hums, humored, and Achilles uses his other hand to tip Zag’s chin the other way, and this _mustn’t_ be real. It can’t be.

Time feels sluggish, like running your fingers through mud. Zagreus is hyper aware of every swipe against his cheek, the cloth rubbing sensitively against his wound. The white rag dips back in the river. Zagreus can’t dare meet Achilles’ eyes. They pierce into him, staring straight to his soul, and Zagreus is afraid of what he’ll find in there.

“That ought to be it,” Achilles says. He swipes the rag once down the side of his neck – and in _that_ moment, Zagreus has to chew a hole through his tongue so he won’t openly moan. He shivers heavily, however, and Achilles raises his eyebrows at him. “You okay, lad?”

“Yeah,” Zagreus laughs it off. “Thanks for uh. Cleaning me up.”

“Forgive my presumptuousness.” Achilles sets the cloth by the pond’s edge. “Habits do die hard…”

Zagreus cocks his head in question.

“Huh? By what do you mean?”

“On the surface, keeping the dirt from your wounds ensured survival,” Patroclus explains. “In war, it wasn’t the cut that would always kill you. It was the disease soon to follow.”

“Oh,” Zagreus blinks. Achilles looks away, picking up the forgotten cup and holding it between his fingers. His blonde hair hides part of his face, but he’s still strikingly handsome. A reflection to Patroclus’ beauty, like two sides of an obol.

Achilles might not be entirely mortal, but he lived a mortal life, and it’s easy to forget; he still cares in a mortal way.

“Must be different for a god,” Achilles shrugs. “I admit, I do not know much of how immortal bodies handle disease.”

“I don’t believe they do,” Zagreus strokes his chin. “Well – it would kill _me,_ most likely. I am a fourth mortal – sort of. But I’d be reborn again like usual.”

 _God of blood,_ Achilles called him. _God of life._

He still struggles with the title, even if the rest of the underworld has taken to it.

“Hmm.” Patroclus looks him over, that half-lidded, skeptical gaze that makes his spine tingle. “Then it would be best not to die until you’ve completed your job.”

“Right,” Zagreus grins. “I’ll do my best, sir.”

Achilles sips from his cup, and a butterfly disturbs the stillness of the pond, landing once and fluttering off again. Zagreus is a restless being, but he knows deep in his soul that _this_ is true peace. If he thinks hard enough, he can still feel the scrape of the cloth against his cheek.

Reality is cold, and brutal.

“The tea is good, dear,” Achilles says.

“Mm. Not like the kind we had in life, but it suffices.”

“I think my tastes were broken, in life.”

“You liked to eat _clam,_ love. Of course, they were broken.”

Achilles laughs, and Zagreus is suddenly and alarmingly aware that he doesn’t belong here. Nestled nice and cozy on green grass between two of the greatest warriors that ever lived. Two of the sweetest _lovers_ to exist in Elysium.

Zagreus jumps to his feet.

“Well, I ought to get moving again! Chop chop, rush hour and the such.”

The disappointed look in Achilles’ eyes is the worst. Of course, he doesn’t speak on it.

“Do what you must, lad.”

“Take a snack, for your journey,” Patroclus offers, standing as well. “I have jerky in the pantry.”

“Please, the tea was more than enough.”

“He’s not worth arguing with,” Achilles smiles. “He’ll slip it in your satchel.”

The warmness between them is too much. The glow in Achilles’ blue eyes. The vivid gentleness with that Patroclus peels open his fingers and slides a paper-wrapped bundle in his hand. Their sweet familiarity should be enough to squash his feelings into the ground, but instead it fans the flames, and Zagreus feels terribly, hopelessly consumed.

“Thanks for the tea!” Zagreus beams. It hurts to smile, but he’d rather die, than not.

* * *

“Get out,” Megara grunts, elbowing him on the lounge table. “You’re dampening the mood of the entire house.”

Zagreus blinks in shocked surprise, lifting his drink away so he won’t spill.

“First of all, _excuse you._ Secondly, that is incredibly unwarranted, I’m just minding my business.”

“With a big fat frown on your face,” Meg huffs, slamming her own bottle on the table. “It doesn’t look right on you.”

Meg is beautiful and equally badass, but they have history and…it’s complicated. Yes, it is hard to have a tight friendship when you’re forced to murder each other every other day. But Zagreus thinks they’ve reached a mutual point of understanding.

“That’s nice,” Zagreus replies flatly. “You always know exactly what to say.”

“If you want to be flattered, go find Dusa.”

“What I _want_ is to finish my drink without having my _appearance_ mocked.”

Meg rolls her eyes, and Zagreus shoots her a grin.

“So dramatic.”

“I believe you started it.”

The lounge is noisier than usual. The chef cuts away in the kitchen, as shades murmur to each other in small circles. Orpheus is playing music today, a sweet ballad about Olympus. Zagreus can hear Hypno’s shrill laugh from the main hall. It should cheer him up, but it doesn’t really.

“To be honest with you,” Meg flicks the cork off her bottle and takes a swig. She still looks a little butthurt from the last time Zagreus kicked her ass. “I don’t really care what your problem is. But I’ll drink with you until we’re both drunk and stupid.”

Zagreus hums, and clicks his bottle against hers.

“You know Meg, you’re a good friend.”

“Don’t call me that.”

* * *

Zagreus thinks he’s doing a pretty good job at putting one foot in front of the other, when a hand grips the back of his chiton like a dog snatched by it’s mother.

“Are you _drunk?”_

Oh, that’s not good.

Zagreus turns quickly, almost too much so, that the world starts to go a little sideways. He rights himself quickly and stands up straight, patting down his clothing to appear normal.

“Ah, hello Achilles sir. Back to work already?”

Achilles looks unimpressed. He glances down and up, and its hard to hide the flush on his face when he’s already sweating from so much alcohol.

“You never overdrink. To be truthful with you lad, I didn’t think you _could.”_

“Technically, anyone can – if you put your heart in it,” Zagreus points, then stuffs his hand under his armpit. “I mean – I’m not – I’ll be fine in ten minutes.”

Kind of a shame, if you think about it. The underworld starts to lean slightly…left, and Zagreus realizes that he’s swaying again, only once Achilles has caught him. He looks upset, and that’s…not doing anything to help the way Zagreus is feeling.

Achilles glances up, then down the hall, “You should get to your room before the master sees, else he become cross with you.”

That’s…a good idea. Zagreus says as such.

“Right right, I’ll just uh, get going – ”

“Let me help you.”

“No!” Zagreus shouts, and then clamps his jaw when he realizes that he actually _shouted._ Achilles’ eyes widen, and Zagreus can see all the pretty shades of blue and green and it looks like Elysium in there, an endless ocean like Poseidon’s sea – and oh, _that’s_ why he just yelled the word ‘no’ at the top of his lungs. He scrambles to do damage repair, “I mean um, I’m okay – you’re working right now. Sorry to bother you sir.”

Achilles still frowns, “You know it’s no matter.”

Zagreus successfully shrugs off his arm and gives a thumbs up, “Right as rain, I promise. Meg and I just got into a little bit of a competition – nothing to worry about.”

Achilles doesn’t look entirely at ease, but he knows when to let Zagreus dig his own grave.

“Alright then. I’m here if you need me.”

 _Gods,_ don’t say that.

 _I need you,_ he wants to say. _I need you so bad, it hurts._

Zagreus successfully wanders back to his chambers, and flops face first on the bed. He muffles a shout in the pillow, and secretly curses Dionysus, and Aphrodite for good measure.

* * *

Okay. So he’s not exactly _ignoring_ Achilles. But Zagreus would say he’s a little embarrassed, yes.

As prince of the underworld, Zagreus knows he’s supposed to set an example for the house and blah blah yes, he’s heard the lecture from his father before. But when Achilles is upset – it’s not in anger; just a sting of disappointment and worry, and that hurts so much worse.

Zagreus knows he’s been acting weird, and he should probably do something to make up for that. Meg says he’s weird at all times of the year, but that’s Meg.

“Hello Charon mate,” Zagreus greets. “You’ve got quite the haul today.”

Charon is tall, imposing and all-around intimidating if you don’t know the guy. A galaxy of smoke exhales from between his teeth, and he tips the brim of his hat.

_“Hhhhrrrnnhhhh.”_

“I see that!” Zagreus crouches to sort through a variety of trinkets, boons and food. “Looks like more than usual – must be busy, you.”

“Mmnnghhhh.”

Zagreus frowns as he sorts through a few piles of jewelry. Beneath it, is a stack of books.

“This looks like surface parchment. How did you get your hands on this?”

Charon shifts the oar to his other hand, and points with a hand adorned in rings.

“ _Grrrnhhhhgnnnn.”_

“Oh.” Zagreus blinks. That’s interesting. “So if souls can’t pay the fare, they offer you items in exchange?”

Charon nods once, and groans his acknowledgement.

“I see, I see.” Zagreus flips through the pages of one of the books, and digs through his satchel. “I think I’ll take these – hey, don’t look at me like that! I can be _scholarly –_ oh, now quit laughing, I’m a paying customer, really mate, you’ll hurt my feelings.”

* * *

Zagreus flips one of the books between his fingers, and stares at the cobble doorstep.

It uh…should be a decent peace offering. Or, maybe not. Maybe Zag should just go – he can smell a fire going and they’re probably having a fine time sitting around and enjoying each other’s company and he really _shouldn’t_ impose, even though he’d really, really like to just sit there with them and _gods_ he sounds like a fucking dog –

The door actually opens before Zagreus can knock. He steps back, and blinks up at Patroclus’ form standing in the doorway.

“I could hear you thinking mighty hard out here, stranger,” Patroclus greets.

“Sorry!” Zagreus laughs. “Uh, the passageway opened up to your house again, so I thought I would stop by…” He offers up the book, “I have a gift. For both of you. Um – I don’t know if you like to read, but – ”

“Achilles does,” Patroclus finishes. “As do I. Thank you.” He looks over the spine of the book; rough leather and stained paper bound through metal rings. It’s very used, and a bit old, but it is indeed from the surface. Patroclus is clever enough to see that. “How did you obtain such a thing?”

“Well, my mate Charon of course.”

“Ah, of course. Come in, but I’ll have you know Achilles is working, so it’s just us two today – or night.”

Zagreus feels his heart do strange things. He can’t determine if he’s relieved, or upset. Maybe a little both.

“Ah, sorry sir. I can be on my way if it’s a bother.”

“Don’t be stupid. It’s a long walk from the house of Hades.” Patroclus turns, and flips through the pages of the book absently, like he’s admiring the pages. “Or so I’ve been told…”

His blunt way of speaking isn’t anything new, but Zagreus appreciates it anyways. Patroclus’ dark hair is tied into a knot high on his head, and Zagreus feels his gaze drawn to the curve of his tanned neck. Scars rest there, marks from the life he used to live, and Zagreus yearns to feel them over with his fingers.

Zagreus clears his throat, and follows Patroclus into his home. The same pleasant scent greets him, but he can hear his own heart rushing past his ears, and he clenches his palms to control their clamminess.

“It is. Although, I’ve grown quite used to it by now.”

“Mmm.” Patroclus sets down the book on a short table, and watches Zagreus turn to hang up his weapon. “I see you’ve chosen a spear this time.”

Zagreus pauses, and looks down to his weapon. “Ah, yes. I’ve been recalling my training with sir Achilles, as of late.”

“The blade looks dull.”

Zagreus examines the Infernal Arm with concern, “Is it?”

Patroclus nods.

“Mm, give it here.”

Zagreus hesitates only a moment, before setting the spear in Pat’s outstretched hand. Patroclus keeps heat in his stare, and it drills right into the blade of the spear. He turns it around in an experienced and steady grip, like the adept hand of a soldier.

“Indeed, you’ve put some wear into it,” Patroclus points with his other hand. “See the scuffing here?” His finger runs along the blade’s edge, and Zagreus tenses out of fear, but it doesn’t cut him. Well, that would certainly be a dull blade.

“Ah. I see that now.”

“I’m no Daedalus, but I can sharpen it for you.”

Zagreus raises his eyebrows, “You can?”

Patroclus spins the spear in his fingers, and then jerks his chin towards the hall, “Mhm. Follow me.”

Zagreus watches him tuck the book back under his arm, set the spear on the opposite shoulder and walk off. He stands a moment, numb in the entry of their home, before jogging to catch up.

“Ah – Patroclus sir, your offer is kind, but you really don’t need to. I think I’ll manage – ”

“A dull blade can cost your life, little prince,” Patroclus says. “Even if you do not weigh a heavy price on your own life, you still have a job to complete, do you not?”

That’s the first time Patroclus has called him anything other than _stranger._ Zagreus feels heat all the way in his core. He rolls his tongue along his cheek to keep himself from pulling a face.

“Well, _yes,_ I suppose that’s true.”

Patroclus leads him to the main room table, where he impatiently gestures for Zagreus to sit, before stepping out of the room to retrieve a whetstone and a rag. Zagreus pulls out the chair, albeit a little reluctantly, and watches Patroclus sit across from him, the spear still in hand. Zagreus raises his eyebrows.

“Is Achilles okay with you doing steelwork amid his living room?”

“What he does not know will not kill him,” Patroclus says, still studying the blade. “Because he is already dead.”

Zagreus blinks. Opens his mouth. Then blinks again.

“Was that a joke?”

Patroclus doesn’t quite smile, but his eyes squint with a bit of humor, before turning back to the blade. He wipes it down carefully, and with a practiced expertise, he sharpens the blade against the table. Zagreus is a bit obsessed with the wide strength in his hands, the nicks and scars and the curve of his knuckles. For so long, he watched this shade barely move from his spot in the grass. Now he looks on his spear with focus, and if only – if only _Zagreus_ were that spear…

“Did Achilles teach you to care for your weapons?”

Zagreus grins, “Yes. Although, I do get a tad lazy…”

Patroclus hums, and wipes the blade between sharpening. The metal scrapes across the stone, and with time, it starts to shine.

“Proper weapon care was something beat into us myrmidons by our superiors. I’m sure Achilles spared you no quarter.”

Zagreus smiles fondly, and then bites it down before Patroclus can see.

“That he did. He calls me a good student, but I know I was a handful.” Zagreus watches as Patroclus flips the blade, and works on the other side. His motions look to be out of habit, and it’s hard not to watch his hands. However – his hands are a _lot_ safer to stare at than the way his chiton bellows down loose from his shoulder. Zagreus clears his throat, and fiddles with the grainlines in the wood table. “Sir, may I ask…what was it like living a myrmidon life, with Achilles?”

“You may not,” Patroclus says, rotting a hole in Zag’s stomach. “But you can answer me this, young prince. What plagues your mind enough to ask?”

Zagreus feels his face get hot. He rubs quickly across his cheek with the back of his hand, and blinks, “Ah, you assume something plagues me?”

“I hear even gods have worries.”

“Sir, truly – I have everything I could want right now. I don’t have much to complain of.”

“You say as such, but Achilles claims you’ve been strange – and right now, I believe him more than you. Tell me, as I’ve no one to rumor to.”

Zagreus plays with his fingers, and meets his gaze only slightly.

“You’re funny, sir. You won’t tell me your problems, but you want to know mine?”

Patroclus sets down the spear. It nearly makes him jump, and Zagreus quickly wonders if he’s overstepped. But Patroclus simply looks at him, and stares forwards, stonelike.

“Prince, my troubles are long gone. The worries I had before, I will never have again. Your time isn’t worth speaking of surface wars long past, as I now exist in afterlife.” Patroclus leans forwards slightly, and Zagreus swallows hard. “But you are very much alive. Your problems exist in the _present._ They matter.” 

Zagreus bites his bottom lip – and for a brief moment, he considers the possibility of speaking his mind. But the consequences are too great, and Achilles isn’t even _here –_ and it’s wrong. All of this is wrong.

“My problems are trivial,” Zagreus smiles. “I’m just grateful to be surrounded by such good people – shades and gods alike. It took me a while to see what I had going for me already.”

Patroclus doesn’t look pleased with that answer, but he lets it go. In some ways, he is just like Achilles. In others, he is nothing like him.

“I am not one to pry. If you say as such, then I will not ask again.”

Zagreus exhales. He watches the light catch on the metal tip of the blade, and blurts, “Thank you, sir.”

“Mm.” Patroclus lifts the sharpened spear, and catches it in the light once more. “Achilles will be sad to find he missed you.”

Zagreus swallows thickly, and accepts the spear with a nod. “I’ll come back.”

Patroclus actually _smiles_ at him. It’s short, and without teeth, but Zagreus sees it nonetheless.

“Pleased to hear it, prince.”

* * *

Zagreus wouldn’t say he’s over it – but he thinks he’s reached a place of acceptance. _Acclimated,_ might be a better word.

He does a couple runs before seeing either of them again. Death by father, then the styx, then again in the snow. Not so bad, all things considered.

He’s wringing the blood out of his chiton, stinging a bit from the loss against those damned satyrs, when Achilles nods him over to his post. Zagreus works his way towards him, but gets caught crossing through the hall.

Hypnos points to his clipboard and grins, “Hey, those nasty vermin got you again, huh? Have you tried _not_ being poisoned?”

Zagreus sighs heavily, “You know Hypnos, I’ll give that a try next time.”

He waves a greeting to Orpheus, and then approaches Achilles with his hands behind his back.

“Good evening sir – or day.”

“Or day,” Achilles repeats. “Take a beating out there?”

“Yeeeah, I don’t want to talk about it.”

Achilles half smiles, and shifts his grip on his spear.

“I won’t keep you. I just wanted to thank you for the gift. Pat and I have been reading it together.”

Zagreus can’t deny the excitement he feels, knowing his gift was enjoyed.

“Is that so? The book is interesting, I hope? To be truthful, I didn’t read it before gifting it over.”

“Indeed. It’s a playwright by Euripides.”

“Oh,” Zagreus blinks. “I don’t know if you enjoy those or not.”

“I wasn’t interested in theater during life,” Achilles says. “But now, I find myself fascinated with anything to come from the surface. Like remnants of a time long passed. Pat has enjoyed reading it with me, though he won’t say it aloud.”

Zagreus is suddenly overcome with such a wave of _want,_ it hurts. He wants to curl his fingers in blonde curls, he wants to sit at his feet as he reads – he just wants a world, somewhere, where he can coexist with this existence that Achilles is sharing with Patroclus.

Zagreus summons a smile, “I’m glad to hear it sir.”

“Come by soon,” Achilles nods. “Patroclus acquired a recipe from Eurydice, and I think he’s eager to try it on someone living.”

“Eurydice you say?” Zagreus laughs. “Then it will be good, I know it.”

“We’ll see it, lad. We’ll see it.”

Zagreus carves one more curse into his own skin. Embeds another nail in his own coffin. Just _one more_ scar on his heart can’t hurt.

“I’ll be there.”

* * *

Mother’s underworld garden isn’t anything like the one she kept up on the surface, but she claims to love it all the same.

Things are still…rocky between Zagreus and his father, but Persephone has adjusted well, and even claims to still love him yet. Zagreus had his doubts, but he knows it’s true. Father is soft for her only. Though, it would be hard not to be. 

“Zagreus,” Persephone greets. “What are you doing here?”

Zagreus turns quickly, standing up from the garden bench.

“Ah! Mother – sorry, I was lost in thought.”

Persephone approaches, and with her, comes a light that she always shines in the House of Hades.

“How are you, my son?”

“Well, mother.” Zagreus takes her outstretched fingers and squeezes them, and Persephone covers his hand with her other, embracing him warmly. “I came to tell you I’ll be off again soon, but I guess I grew distracted in the meantime.”

The skulls in her long hair jingle as she tips her head and smiles, “Thank you for telling me.” She looks into Zagreus’ eyes, and her smile droops slightly. “You needn’t rush off yet. Sit with me, son.”

“If you’re busy – ”

“I’m not. Your father is in the administrative chamber – not much for me to do in there, I’m afraid.”

Zagreus grins, “You and me both.”

They sit for a while. Zagreus thinks he’ll never truly get enough of her, even as much as he tries. After his experience on the surface, only being able to speak to her for moments at a time – Zagreus still feels the need to hoard her close. Like the styx will come, Zagreus will die, and Persephone will be gone again. But mother has proven steadfast, and he has faith in her. He thinks father does, too.

“A lot has changed around here, because of you,” Persephone smiles.

“Good changes, I hope?”

“Yes, of course. Your father is a little distraught over the frequent holes in his realm – but he’s proud of you.”

Zagreus feels his eyes glaze over. He stares at the far reaches of the garden, and swallows around the tightness in his throat.

“Thank you, mother.”

She looks at him. Zagreus keeps his eyes away, and turns a stray obol between his fingers.

“Whatever is troubling you…” Persephone starts, “You can tell me, son.”

Zagreus smiles sadly, and does meet her gaze this time. Her green eyes are stunning, always.

“I must wear my emotions. I’ve been getting that a lot lately.”

“We care for you, Zagreus,” Mother says. So honest, and sweet. “And yes, you are _charmingly_ earnest, in the best of ways. Your emotions are loud – I’m afraid you get such a thing from me.”

The garden doesn’t smell as fresh or sweet as the one on the surface, but it _does_ have a comfort to it. It’s…homey. In a way. _Safe,_ if you really wanted to label it.

Zagreus flips the coin once, twice, and traces the ridge with his forefinger before speaking.

“Is it possible…to love more than one soul at a time?”

The question hangs. Persephone looks surprised, but not upset. Zagreus watches his mother check the garden (it’s empty) before answering.

“Of course, my son – but in what way? There are – ”

“Seven types of love,” Zagreus finishes, with a sad smile. “I know. Aphrodite has told me. It is…the first kind, mother.”

The first, and the worst. _Eros._

Persephone presses her lips together, and then exhales. Her jewelry jingles as she slips a hand to grab for Zagreus’ fingers again, and he squeezes them back.

“I should tell you something. It’s not exactly a secret – but it’s not something to tell the whole underworld – or Olympus, for that matter.”

Zag’s eyebrows fly to his hairline, and he looks at his mother with concern.

“What? What is it?”

“The love that I have for your father…” Persephone starts. “It is the same kind that I hold for our sweet Nyx.”

_Wait. What?_

Her words take a moment to sink in. Zagreus’ eyes widen slowly.

“For – for Nyx? You mean…you and father and…”

“It is surprisingly uncomplicated,” Persephone smiles. “We’ve had a mutual understanding for – Gods. An undistinguishable amount of time.”

Zagreus is still trying to understand. There’s no hint of humor in his mother’s tone, and she doesn’t _sound_ like she’s lying, but it’s hard to process all at once.

“You…you love Nyx, like how you love father.”

“Yes, and _vice versa –_ although, the Night isn’t something you can simply keep. But she knows she’s welcome here, with us.” Persephone tips her head to catch Zag’s eye. “Does this upset you, my son?”

“No! No no no,” Zagreus waves his hand. “It doesn’t upset me at all. It actually…uh…clears up a few things.”

He thinks of Nyx’s gentle encouragement, all the while that Zagreus was fighting to bring home mother. All the times that Persephone asked how _they_ were, Hades and Nyx collectively – how Father never took action against Nyx, even in her insubordination.

“The heart is capable of some incredible things,” Persephone smiles. “Don’t fight it.”

Zagreus smiles back for her, albeit a little forced.

“It’s a mighty task.”

“I know. But if anyone can achieve this, it’s you.”

* * *

Zagreus spends his next run with his head in the clouds. It’s not that he’s necessarily sloppy – he’s just uh, not all there.

It’s hard to look at father the same. As he exits the pool of Styx, he pets Cerberus and stares and stares – long enough that father turns from his parchment and growls _don’t you have somewhere better to be?_ In which Zagreus smiles and says _no,_ just to spite him.

It’s odd to think about his father, mother and Nyx as one singular unit, but then the more he thinks on it, the less odd it becomes.

Well. If his blasted _father_ could pull off a relationship (blegh) as complicated as that, then maybe… he has a bit of hope after all.

Zagreus is actually a bit excited when he goes on his next run through Elysium, and the passageway to that cottage home opens clear.

He should probably have a plan. But uh, Zagreus does not – and frankly, doesn’t care to. If anything, at the very least, he just wants to _see them._ Just sit in their presence, for a singular moment, and just be selfish.

Achilles wasn’t on shift when he left the house. He must be here.

Zagreus knocks on the door. Ambrosia is already in his hand, the cork spinning about as Zagreus picks absently at it. He waits, and when there’s no answer, he knocks again.

Surely, they must be here?

“Hello?” Zagreus calls. His knuckles go _tap tap_ on the wood frame, but he gets no response.

If he listens hard enough, he can hear the trickle of the Lethe. Elysium has no wildlife, other than various insects and a few fish in the rivers, but Zagreus swears he can hear –

Oh, talking. They’re in the garden.

For a moment, Zagreus considers just leaving; but it’s so very obvious that they’re chatting by the stream, and Achilles would definitely give him that ‘ _disappointed’_ look if he found out Zagreus stopped by but didn’t say hello – and ah, what a crossroads.

Zagreus pockets the ambrosia back in his satchel, and drops it to the ground. Carefully, he trudges around the perimeter, and follows the sound of soft speaking.

He can’t make out words, but Zagreus can recognize their voices as they get louder. As he rounds the corner of the house, he prepares to announce his presence – but he nearly bites his tongue in two in an attempt to silence himself.

Zagreus very quickly realizes that he’s imposing on a private moment.

Elysium comes with it’s trials, but for all the wretches that haunt the fields, it is at the very base of it, _beautiful._ The grass is always green and lush and it runs water for miles, filling the air with a pleasant and warm humidity.

Their garden glows _,_ and amid the center, Patroclus has Achilles under him, smiling into his mouth.

Zagreus can’t even _feel_ his heart anymore; it slams so hard into his ribcage, he can nearly taste it. He covers his mouth to hide his breath, but forgets to move.

 _“Pat,”_ Achilles says, a soft, scornful tone. “We have a bed.”

“And we have grass,” Patroclus answers. Zagreus can see clear as day, as Patroclus turns his head to kiss into the side of his pale neck – and Achilles reaches up, to thread his fingers through dark hair. Fabric pools around them and long hair curtains everywhere and Zagreus can see Patroclus slide his hand up Achilles’ thigh, almost in slow motion. 

The world feels…heavy. Realization doesn’t hit him all at once – rather, it’s like a dawning acceptance. Something he knew, but didn’t want to think about.

The heart of capable of many things, but –

_I was a fool._

_There’s no place for me here._

The feeling is bittersweet. As much as it hurts, it’s hard not to be happy for them. Because they _look_ happy – and that’s all Zagreus ever wanted, in the end.

As beautiful as they are, it’s wrong to stay.

Zagreus scoops up his bag, sets the bottle of ambrosia on their front step, and leaves.

* * *

The lounge feels livelier this way, thanks to the works of the house contractor. The bright lights and the vibrant decor make it a little less stuffy, even while it’s busy.

Achilles finds him at a table, and Zagreus isn’t that surprised.

“You’re back.”

“Ah,” Zagreus turns. “Hello sir. On shift already?”

“Not quite yet,” Achilles says. His spear is in hand, and he’s in uniform, and Zagreus gets the idea that he will begin working soon. “I wanted to ask you – did you stop by the house recently?”

Zagreus scratches his jaw and grins, “Err – yeah. I knocked but, I don’t think anyone was home.”

Woo, what an actor. Someone find Sophocles.

“Oh.” Achilles blinks evenly, and it’s kind of cute. “How strange. I don’t believe we left the house recently.”

“Sorry,” Zagreus shrugs. “Guess I’ll knock harder next time.”

“No no, our apologies. Thank you for the gift, we’ll be sure to save it for your return.”

 _Stop,_ Zagreus thinks. _Stop, being kind to me._

“You know, you don’t need _me_ to enjoy a drink with your partner,” Zagreus smiles.

Achilles gives him a look, and to Zagreus’ own horror, he claps him on the bare shoulder and squeezes.

“Don’t think that way lad. We enjoy seeing you.”

 _Stop!_ Zagreus cries, in his soul. _Please, Achilles!_

It hurts.

It will hurt for a while, he reasons.

“You’re too kind, sir.”

“You and your manners,” Achilles shakes his head. “I’ll see you around.”

“Sure.”

Achilles leaves for his post, and Zagreus shoots back the rest of his drink before Meg can find him.

* * *

He visits the Myrmidons when the opportunity rises, because Zagreus too polite not to. But he never stays long. Never long enough to grow _too_ invested. To feel too safe and raw, because Gods, does he.

Sometimes, mother looks at him sadly – like she knows. He smiles for her, but she is too clever otherwise.

The pact of punishment is a good distraction. The added defenses keep him on his burning toes, keep him reaching for a goal that is almost unobtainable. He bleeds more, but it stopped bothering him a long time ago.

“Please excuse my meddling, but you look quite a mess, prince Zed,” Sisyphus says, as he hands Zagreus a pouch of obols. “Must you turn up the heat so high?”

Zagreus thanks him for the gift, pockets the coins, and then shrugs.

“I quite like the challenge. Keeps me awake, that’s for sure.”

“When was the last time you rested?”

Uhhhhhh……

Zagreus ponders this. Sisyphus raises his eyebrows, and leans an arm on Bouldy.

“Right. I guess that’s my answer.”

“Sorry mate. It’s just work as usual.”

“Things are pretty good in this realm I’d say.” Sisyphus looks to Boudly, as if the giant rock will agree. “And I surely don’t believe anyone will be escaping anytime soon. Once the underworld is water tight, what will you do then, prince?”

To be truthful, Zagreus doesn’t want to think much on it. Plundering his father’s realm has given him a purpose, and right now he’s such a bloody mess, he doesn’t want to imagine where he’d be without somewhere to _run to._

“I guess I’ll find some other way to annoy my father, I suppose,” Zagreus jests.

Sisyphus laughs shortly, and shakes his head.

“Not a god of the future I see. I was never the type much, either.”

“A day at a time, I say!” Zagreus grins. “Or night.”

“Or night.”

Zagreus presses on.

* * *

_Make it hotter._

_Give me more._

_Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen._

His cup runneth over.

* * *

Okay. He might have taken it a _little_ too far this time.

“Oh the gods,” Achilles curses, jerking forwards to catch Zagreus in his arms. “ _Pat!_ Hurry over!”

Zagreus doesn’t know why he’s here. He’s barely alive as it is, and he should really just die and start over again – but the pathway opened up amid Elysium, and his feet kept him moving forwards against his own will.

Something about the pain is…nice. He shouldn’t think so. But it’s so excruciating, it distracts him from everything else in his mind.

“Zagreus.” Achilles’ voice is full of concern. “What happened?”

“Um,” Zagreus blinks. Everything is fuzzy and warm, and he knows he should shrug out of these strong arms, but he doesn’t have the strength to. “A spearman, haha. Couldn’t, um, find a place to heal – sorry to, to bother…”

Red blood is pooling out of his mouth like a river. His insides are dangerously close to becoming his _outsides,_ but it’s not anything he hasn’t seen before. Achilles, on the other hand, looks mighty concerned.

Patroclus appears in the doorway, rushed as if he ran here.

“Oh Zeus – look at you.”

“He’s dying,” Achilles says straightforward. “We need to take him to the fountain.” 

“No,” Zagreus rasps. His voice sounds hoarse and weak. “I’m done –” _cough,_ “— done for. Just came to, to say hi. You can let me die.”

Zagreus has long gone numb, but he feels an additional set of arms slip under him and lift, and suddenly he’s no longer standing.

“No,” Patroclus says. “I do not think we will be doing that.”

Everything’s getting dark anyways. Zagreus can feel the Styx calling him; a terrible song that grips him slowly, creeping behind his eyelids and encompassing his body.

He knows he’s being carried somewhere, but he can’t discern where, or by who. The sentiment is nice, he thinks, but that’s all. The rest becomes darkness.

_See you at the house._

* * *

He uh…doesn’t wake up at the house. You can imagine his surprise, yes.

Instead, Zagreus stirs in a bed. It’s a nice bed, but not _his_ bed, and that’s the double whammy.

He feels sheets under his fingertips that aren’t his own. Some of his armor has been plucked off, along with his white chlamys.

The room smells _nice._ Sweet and homely and…masculine, in a strange way. Like a body has rested here recently.

Zagreus feels his eyes fly open when a hand cards through his hair. The nails are dull, the fingers strong, and it’s not the touch of a woman, such as his mother.

The hand doesn’t stop, like it is naïve to his awakening.

_“I thought his feet would burn the sheets.”_

_“I told you as such. Firesteppers have… a peculiar amount of control.”_

_“Such as his father, you mean.”_

_“Well, yes. But I heard the lad used to leave quite the scorch marks on the house floor.”_

A soft conversation is being whispered. The downy bed is dipped in two places.

_It’s them._

Zagreus registers a second hand placing a rag to his side. It’s the place he was stabbed – the spot where the blood pooled from, and as Zagreus wakes further, he realizes that he doesn’t feel any more pain.

“I’ve never seen him rest this long.” It’s Achilles speaking. His voice always has a soft undertone, but it’s whispery and silk soft in the silence of their bedroom. “Always on the move, this one.”

“Can gods tire?” Patroclus asks.

“Sometimes,” Zagreus answers.

Both of them turn quickly, and the hand in his hair is gone so fast, it’s hard to believe it was there in the first place.

“You’re awake.”

“Well, obviously,” snips Patroclus.

“Quiet you. Are you in pain, lad?”

“No, no no, not at all,” Zagreus blinks. “I…slept, was it?”

Achilles’ hands are politely folded in his lap, but Patroclus isn’t deferred from his job of cleaning Zagreus’ wounds. It’s mostly healed, but puffy and red, and he keeps his touch light on his ribs, and Zagreus feels hypersensitive to the touch.

“Indeed. Your life was slipping when we reached the fountain. It did not heal you fully – but it looked to be enough.”

“I haven’t seen so much blood since…” Achilles starts, then stops. “Well. You know.”

“Yes.”

“Sorry to be a bother…” Zagreus clears his throat, and tries to sit upright. “You really should’ve just let me pass – I would’ve woken up fine anyways.”

“I care _not,_ ” Achilles grits forcefully, shocking Zagreus still. “Even if your life is immortal, it still has meaning to the likes of us. Please treat your existence with respect.”

His words are _tender,_ and it feels like a thumb in his bruises. Achilles is there to help him sit upright, and Patroclus sets aside the rag to get a hand on his thigh and nudge, and it’s suddenly _so_ much, that Zagreus feels everything boil over.

These hands, and these words. The tenderness, and the open concern. It’s overwhelming.

“Don’t _touch_ me!” Zagreus snaps, and it’s like a bell has rung through the room. Both of them back away at once – Achilles openly concerned, and Patroclus back behind a stone mask.

“Oh – forgive me, are you in pain?”

“No, I –” Zagreus bites his cheek to stop the words, but it won’t _stop._ All these emotions spilling from his cup, dripping down the edges and off to the floor, like the blood he spilt on their doorstep. “I’m sorry – I’m so – I can’t, I can’t do this anymore.” Zagreus swings his legs off the bed, and sways a little from the headrush. “I have to go, I can’t…”

“ _Prince.”_ Patroclus’ tone is void of nonsense, and he grabs Zagreus around the wrist to tug and force his eye. “Take a breath, and speak your piece clearly. What is wrong?”

Seeing the two of them like this – sitting at his bedside, _caring_ for him like –

Zagreus can’t do this anymore.

He exhales. Zagreus stands facing the doorway, Patroclus’ grip strong around his wrist, Achilles hovering by his side.

He decides to let it all go.

“I can’t stay here, sirs,” Zagreus starts slowly. “I’ve wronged you deeply, and I don’t deserve your concern.”

“Wronged us?” Achilles touches soft at his elbow, and urges Zagreus to turn and look at them. “I don’t think it possible.”

Oh, but it is.

“We Myrmidons aren’t offended so easily,” Patroclus continues. “Whatever it is, we will hear you out fully.”

Every ounce of his existence _begs_ him to stay silent. But Zagreus simply cannot go on like this. 

_Fear is for the weak, fear is for the weak._

Zagreus looks between them and says at last, “I care for you both far, far more than I should. I’m sorry if it makes you uncomfortable but…I can lie no more.” Zagreus tugs out Patroclus’ grip, which has softened, and Zagreus drops his voice to beg, “I love you. So please let me go.”

The silence between them is sickening. Achilles and Patroclus are just _standing there._ No reaction – no disgust, or anger, and Zagreus doesn’t know what he expected, but this is almost worse.

Achilles and Patroclus share a silent look. Zagreus pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs heavily.

“Please spare me the lecture. I know you two are perfectly happy living out the entirety of your afterlife, and I’d prefer not to embarrass myself any more than I already have – ”

Patroclus interrupts him by turning to Achilles.

“Perhaps, we were a little too vague.”

Achilles sighs, and presses his fingers into his eyes, rubbing them tiredly.

“Indeed.”

Zagreus crosses his arms, nevermind the soreness at his side.

“Excuse me?”

“Sit with us, lad.”

“Why?”

“Just give us just a moment of your time, then you can go as you please.”

Zagreus hesitates, because of course he does. His heart is bleeding all over the floor, and Achilles is still looking at him so _openly_ _,_ and Patroclus is beckoning him with the same hands that lovingly sharpened his spear and cleaned his wound and Zagreus is so _weak,_ that he sits.

“Oh Zagreus,” Achilles starts. “We’ve done you a disservice.”

Zagreus winces. Here it comes.

“Don’t make that face,” Patroclus scoffs, taking another seat at his right. “I want you to think for me. I know you’re clever, sweet prince. Why would we welcome you here so often?”

Zagreus blinks, and gives an honest answer.

“Because you are kind. Because…you feel indebted to me.”

“A little,” Achilles offers. “But I owe many debts. Do you see others here?”

“Well, _no._ ”

“We invite you here because we want you with us,” Patroclus says, so matter of fact in his soft manner of speech. “It is as simple as that.”

Zagreus…can’t process that. He turns to look at Achilles, but his face retains the same kind of calm. He looks honest. Zagreus feels his bleeding heart ache. He shifts his burning feet against the wood floor and refuses to look upwards.

“Please sirs, don’t be cruel. I can’t take false hope right now.”

Patroclus grips his jaw and tugs, and Zagreus feels his heart slam to his ribcage. He forces his eye, stares him down fully and frowns.

“You are rather thickheaded for a god.”

“Um, thank you.”

Another hand finds his inner arm. Gentle, and calloused, and it feels on _fire._

“Zagreus.” Achilles speaks low by his ear, and _woah,_ that goes straight down his spine. “Are you listening?”

He’s frozen still. Okay, this is going in a direction he didn’t expect.

“Yes.”

“We might just be a pair of measly old shades, but we would keep you here. As long as you would allow it.”

Patroclus plucks the laurel from his hair, and sets it aside. Achilles smiles to him, and fixes the hair left awry.

“We adore you.”

“Very much, yes.”

Zagreus looks between them. Once, then over again, and then back. He’s gone numb from the shock, and his mouth hangs open like a fish.

“You can’t. You two are happy here – you can’t – you _shouldn’t_ say such things. Achilles you said –”

“I know what I said,” Achilles finishes. “I would never love another without Pat’s permission. That doesn’t mean such a thing is impossible, now.”

_Love?!_

Patroclus smiles at him. Not fully, but his eyes shine, and he pets under Zagreus’ chin like he’s something nice to look at, and it coils heat straight in his chest.

“I’d say likewise. You’re an interesting one, prince.” He tips his head, and Zagreus goes willingly. “Look at those eyes, Achilles.”

“I know it,” Achilles hums. “Zagreus, what say you?”

“I think you’ve lost your minds,” Zagreus croaks. Achilles laughs beneath his breath, and Patroclus pets his knuckles down Zagreus’ throat.

“You can leave, and nothing will change. We will still treat you the same.” Patroclus pets over his pulse, and a paler hand skims to his lower back to lock him in place. 

“Or stay, and change everything. It is your choice.”

Zagreus feels his eyes close and flutter back open as Patroclus pets around to his ear and tugs. Achilles is securely at his side, and as quickly as his heart is beating, Zagreus still feels the safeness that comes with their home. It oozes from the floorboards, and the cracks in the walls.

“Nyx says I stink of change. Says it clings to me, and infects others.”

“Mmm.”

“The Night is never wrong.”

“You both know this is a bit crazy, right?”

Achilles smiles, “Come here,” and he does. Right to his lap, and even as a god, these shades make him feel _small,_ for their forms mirror their bodies in life, tall and strong and immovable. Achilles gets him straddled proper, and Patroclus becomes a wall behind him, and Achilles has the gall to laugh, “You flush like a human, lad.”

Zagreus huffs, “Well if you’re going to make fun of me, I’m just going to leave.” He inhales sharp as Patroclus grips his waist and tugs him snugger into Achilles’ lap, so his knees bracket his chestplate.

“So soon? It would be a crime not to touch you yet.”

They’re contradictions at the core of it. Rough to the touch but soft in speech, gentle in their actions but _strong_ and steadfast, and it’s all the reason to why Zagreus adores them. It’s overwhelming, but in an exciting kind of way.

 _They want me,_ his brain repeats. _They want me._

“Would you allow a kiss?” Achilles asks outright. 

Zagreus swallows thickly, and braces his hands firm on his biceps.

“I would, sir. I would very much.”

“Always so polite,” Patroclus teases, as Achilles cups Zagreus by the jaw and kisses him finally. He hopes desperately that Achilles can’t taste his rapid heartbeat – that he can’t feel the sweat in his hands – but Zagreus stops worrying the moment Achilles secures him by the back of the neck, and Patroclus tips his head around his shoulder to watch.

The kiss is so _warm_ for a shade. These afterlife bodies are made to last eternity, but they’re not made of flesh and blood. That being said, Zagreus has never kissed one before. At the core of it, he’s just Achilles. The forgotten hero he’s adored for a long, long time. 

Zagreus can’t help his own gasp against his mouth. He starts tense, but Achilles works him over, a kiss that’s _long_ and slow and his own flavor. Maturity at it’s finest, but skilled, just as he is, and it rocks a million butterflies in his stomach. He’s coaxing Zagreus into it, _teaching him,_ and it makes him hot all over.

“Wow,” Patroclus says, in his deadpan manor. “For a god feared by the shades, he’s quite cute.”

Achilles smiles, and breaks the kiss barely.

“You taste lovely. Was that alright?”

Zagreus swallows, and selfishly reaches upwards to push blonde hair over his shoulder. It’s soft. Inhumanly so.

“Tell him to quit making fun of me.”

Patroclus breathes a laugh through his nose, and Achilles reaches around to jab his finger into Pat’s thigh.

“Behave.”

“Then give me a turn.”

Zagreus feels his heart fall and thump around all over again, and he turns over his shoulder to look Patroclus in the eye.

“You – you sure you want to? I won’t be offended.”

“There is such a thing as a stupid question,” Patroclus answers. Ah, alright then.

Patroclus kisses entirely different. He’s lazier than Achilles, but stricter in a way. He doesn’t let Zagreus direct the kiss whatsoever, and the lack of control is almost…nice. Like it’s not his worry.

This kiss is not entirely innocent, but it’s not messy either. The scratch of Pat’s beard is foreign, and his hair is coarser than Achilles’, and Zagreus ends up twisted around in his lap instead, at the nudging of various hands. Zagreus has to breathe through his nose as Patroclus grows less patient with him, not letting him pull back for air, and Zagreus outright _moans_ when a second mouth finds the back of his neck. It’s fire, bloody fucking _fire._

“Oh,” Achilles says.

“Fuck,” Zagreus curses. “That was loud. Sorry. I’m _kind of_ freaking out, if that’s okay.”

“I think it’s quite sweet.” A hand snakes around from behind, pressing flat over the bareness of his navel, and Zagreus can’t keep track of all the limbs, because Patroclus dips his head to mouth under his jaw, and everything starts to snowball so _fast._ “You experience emotions so strongly.”

Achilles finds the soft spot at the back of his ear and asks nicely, “We can take care of you. Will you stay, lad?”

Zagreus _shakes._ Like he’s been electrocuted with lightning. He barks a stunned laugh, and says,

“Yes sir.”

* * *

They move as a unit, and it’s incredible. One always knows where the other will be without the need for words, and it leaves Zagreus dizzy and overstimulated, and scrambling to keep up.

They appear to like Zagreus like this, squished between them and barely clinging onto his sanity. Hands around his middle and clasping at his sides, a mouth keeping him busy while fingers undress him easily. Soon, all that is left are his leggings, and the taste of his heart in his mouth.

“Even as your friend, I still thought a god such as you to be far beyond our reach,” Achilles says. Zagreus is clinging onto Patroclus desperately, as fingers map up and down his body. He’s being discovered and memorized, and it gives him goosebumps. “But I think I’ve felt especially selfish, as of late.”

_Can this be real?_ He thinks. _Will I wake up in the Styx?_

Patroclus gives a short laugh. Zagreus is equally overwhelmed as Pat leans over his shoulder to kiss Achilles once, before tugging Zagreus snug over his thighs again.

“You’re supposed to worship gods, are you not?”

“I’m not – _entirely_ a god,” Zagreus gasps, tipping his head for Achilles to mouth over his pulse once more. “Mostly one. Three-uh, three fourths…”

Patroclus is immovable beneath him. Zagreus can feel broad shoulders, bumps of scars and smooth skin under his fingertips. He wishes he could spare the attention span to memorize it all, but these two are a _menace_ as a team.

Patroclus digs his hand into the meat of his ass and squeezes, “Then you’re quite strong for a godling.”

“Well, I – _ahh,_ I do work out a bit, thanks to my promotion.”

“I regretted turning you down that day,” says Achilles. Zagreus shivers as long soft hair tickles his bare spine, and marred fingers divvy down the line between his pectorals. “Even years later, I couldn’t shake the feeling that you belonged _here,_ with us _._ ”

His words clog up in Zag’s throat. He won’t cry, but his eyes burn, and he has to blink rapidly to swallow the feeling back. He claws his nails into Pat’s hair, digs close to the scalp and holds tight, and Patroclus makes a happy noise.

“I imagined this so many times – I thought the fates had cursed me.”

“That’s adorable,” Patroclus mulls.

“Is he always this maddening?”

Achilles laughs sweetly, “Yes, but you learn to love him for it. Don’t take his teasing to heart, it’s his own type of affection.”

“Achilles is trying to distract you.” Patroclus mouths beneath his throat, and Zagreus grips tight into his hair with surprise. “He wishes you to ride him. He’s said so.” 

Zagreus bites his cheek, a parallel to the way Achilles mouths over his shoulder. His toes curl, a yellow light pressed to the sheets.

“Is that right?” Zagreus croaks.

Achilles hesitates only a little. His hand slides down between Zag’s thighs, feather light over his crotch, then back up again. Zagreus feels his cock pulse from it.

“I’d push you no further than you desire,” Achilles says. “But you would look very beautiful, yes.”

Zagreus laughs from his own excitement. He can’t hide how hard he is, and his heart jumps leaps and bounds when he shifts in Pat’s lap, and feels his own arousal mirroring back. There’s no denying it now. The evidence is there. 

“Only if it’s both of you.”

Patroclus grinds him into his lap, and Zagreus grits a noise through his teeth as they press together.

“That can be arranged.”

They make it so easy. Rolling off clothes and armor, Achilles tugging him back into the bed, Zagreus knelt over him as Patroclus spreads oil over his fingers and stretches Zagreus easy. He knows his face is burning, but it’s beyond his control.

Achilles kisses him passionately, all encompassing, and Zagreus can’t get enough of his naked body. He’s so _strong,_ round biceps and a thick chest and thighs he has to work to straddle. Pat’s fingers are equally thick, and Zagreus struggles to hide sounds against his mentor’s cheek.

“You’re doing wonderfully, dear,” Achilles coos, petting the back of his neck. “Does it hurt?”

Zagreus hangs his head, and sucks in air against Achilles’ collarbone. Patroclus is kneeled casually behind him, spreading him open and tracing around his hole in even, practiced circles. He pushes in and out, curls his fingers, wets them with more oil and returns just as easily, and Zagreus can feel his cock drooling against Achilles’ stomach, and he’s fucking greedy for it.

_If I’m going to have this, I must have it all._

“I’ve known pain, sir. This is not pain.”

Achilles kisses his cheek, and his shoulder. Zagreus tremors.

“You don’t have to call us by title. Unless you’d like to.”

Zagreus laughs hoarsely, and then groans when Achilles’ fingers confidently find his cock and tug once. _Gods, his hands…_

“You’re too good to me. I worry this is all just a cruel joke from Hypno—oooh _fuck,_ fuck fuck.”

“If it was a dream, you would know it,” Patroclus says. Zagreus makes a sound when lips press against his tailbone, and long fingers crook into his spot with pinpoint accuracy. He shakes in their arms, gasps in wetly and grinds into Achilles’ hand, and the world goes fuzzy as blood rushes past his ears. Their voices become muffled.

“Wow.”

“Yes, he’s a bit like you.”

“Oh shush.”

“I’d love for you to see it one day, prince,” Patroclus purrs, petting up the sensitive skin of his inner thigh. “Our Achilles is very beautiful on his knees.”

_Our._

The mental image is enough to make his brain turn off. Well, it’s not like Zagreus _hadn’t_ thought of it.

“Well, that certainly sounds stunning.” 

“It is.” 

“Pat,” Achilles chides.

“He’s very _needy,_ ” Patroclus continues. “If it isn’t right, he’ll tell you.”

“That isn’t true.”

“Don’t lie to your ward, Achilles.” Patroclus pulls out his fingers and pushes Zagreus a little further up. “He’s trying to be charming. Go on, see how aroused he is.”

Ah. You don’t have to tell him twice.

Achilles’ eyes widen a fraction as Zagreus sits up on his knees, and grinds shortly into his lap. Zagreus gasps too, and in that moment, it all becomes alarmingly _real._ The fallen heroes are here, with him – and it’s all a bit ironic, that the god of life should fall for the dead.

Achilles is big, and he’s hard, and it turns Zagreus on to the nth degree. Never in a thousand deaths did Zagreus think he would end up here, staring down his naked mentor in their lovely Elyisum home, while his partner sucks bruises into the back of his neck. Zagreus rocks his bare ass back against his cock, and the skin on skin makes them both grit a sound.

“Achilles…” Zagreus wets his lips, and swallows hard. “Can I ride you?”

Achilles looks ravenous, but locked behind firm self-restraint.

“Yes.”

“Take it slow,” Patroclus warns, at his ear.

Patroclus helps line them together, and then it’s over. Zagreus moans, utterly winded, and he hasn’t been fucked in a long time – but this stretch is _different._ Hot and tingly, filling him fully, in body and soul. 

Zagreus feels his patience fly out the window, and he sinks down as far as his body will allow. Achilles makes an incredible noise, muffled by his own throat, and it spurs Zagreus on further. Blonde hair pools off the pillows and Zagreus can see all his toned muscle from where he sits at his hips, and Patroclus is there again, setting his hands on his waist to guide him up, and it’s all very _safe,_ as exciting as it is.

“Good, prince, very good.”

“Fuck,” Zagreus groans, rolling his head off his shoulders. “You’re big, sir.”

Achilles’ eyes are focused on him, and it’s incredibly addicting. His hands grip him strongly by the thighs, as Achilles looks him head on.

“Blood and darkness…not so fast. Are you okay lad?”

Zagreus bounces a couple times to test the feeling, Achilles’ hardness slipping in and out of him, and he can feel his filter slithering away.

“ _Ah,_ t-to be truthful, it feels bloody fucking good — oh _please,_ yes, move like that.”

Patroclus snorts, and Achilles finds one of his hands to help support him, and Zagreus rides to his heart’s content. Patroclus is patient at their side, only leaning forwards when he’s decided to steal Achilles by the mouth, and watching them kiss doesn’t spur any jealousy – it just rolls his stomach to his toes. They’re so beautiful, _so_ beautiful, and Zagreus gets to see.

“Look at you,” Patroclus purrs to Achilles. “You get everything you want, don’t you.”

“Tart, I’m trying to _mm –_ to watch.”

Zagreus fucks back on his cock and groans, pushing him right where he needs him. Patroclus peeks open an eye and grins.

“He’s using you.”

“Then let him,” Achilles wheezes. “What’s a god to use _me?”_

“I used to daydream of it,” Zagreus rasps, squeezing his fingers. “When you showed me how to hold a spear. I wished ah, ah, y-you’d fuck me on the training room floor.” 

Achilles looks shocked, but equally _hungry,_ and it’s bloody sexy. Patroclus just looks amused. 

“A lewd little thing, aren’t you?”

Zagreus is able to summon a smile, through the sweat in his bangs and the burn in his thighs. 

“You’re just too handsome, sirs.”

Skin slaps skin, Patroclus offers a hand for him to fuck into, and Zagreus feels himself spiraling. He’s burning up, flicking his bangs out of his face as he grinds back and forward, up and down, and whenever they turn to watch him it’s like fire in his soul. They look at him like he’s _precious._ Like he belongs here.

Elysium’s glow never changes, but the room grows smaller, tighter and tenser and _more_ as Patroclus strokes him evenly, and Achilles grips his thigh with a restrained neediness, and Zagreus hasn’t tired yet, but he looks Achilles in the eye and begs _fuck me sir, please,_ and it gets so, so good.

Zagreus has his immortal blood to thank, but Achilles is just pure strength. He rolls them over, presses Zag’s shoulders into the sheets and does him _so well._ Zagreus braces a hand up against the wall just to keep himself grounded -- and nothing will _ever_ compare to the feeling of Achilles spreading his thighs and fucking into him like a _soldier._ Kneeled up on the bed, spreading his knees wide and huffing with the effort. His blue eyes are like stars on the horizon. They lead you home. 

“Gods, you are beautiful Zagreus,” Achilles says. “Ah, those eyes. Look at me.” 

Zagreus does. It feels like his body is burning, but he does. 

He loses track of Patroclus. That is probably his undoing. But he finds him very quickly — when Achilles suddenly stops his pace, and slaps a hand into the sheets to brace himself. 

_“Ah,_ fuck _.”_

“You know prince, I think you’ll get to see him undone sooner rather than later,” Patroclus says. 

Watching Achilles tense and shiver above him is near religious. Zag’s voice is sort-of shot, but he still has half the mind-power to be smart. 

“Why Patroclus sir, are you causing trouble back there? While I’m getting the daylights screwed out of me?” 

Achilles tenses further, exhaling through his nose and leaning forwards to press his forehead into Zag’s shoulder. It grinds them closer, presses Achilles further in him, and Zagreus whines from it. 

“Maybe.” 

“Pat, I won’t last,” Achilles warns. Zagreus can’t see much, but he knows Patroclus is tracing between his legs, feeling where they’re connected and pushing into Achilles, and that knowledge makes him _dangerously_ close to the edge, despite the abrupt halt to their pace. 

“Isn’t that the point, dear?” 

Achilles doesn’t have a body capable of breath, but Zagreus can feel everywhere they’re touching, thigh to thigh, tense and throbbing and overstimulated. His cock is trapped between their stomachs, and Zagreus feels the chain reaction when Patrocus starts to thrust into Achilles. 

Achilles _shakes._ He is otherwise silent, but he’s tense under his fingers, and Zagreus traces pale back muscles with wonder. 

“Sorry lad, I —” Achilles grits his teeth as Patroclus rocks forwards. “Give...me a moment.” 

Zagreus twists and wiggles, a little impatient, but thoroughly entertained. It’s not the whipcord pace Achilles had set before, but instead it drives him to grind slow into him, and it’s equally tortuous. Zagreus has been fucked before, but never something this _intimate._ Every second is torture, and it’s wonderful. 

Zag brackets in his hips with his knees and pulls him in further, and Achilles groans beneath his breath. 

“Does he feel good?” Zagreus asks, bravely. 

Achilles laughs wetly, and rises up on his arms to stare down at him. 

“Yes darling, just like you.” 

Zagreus finds his mouth occupied, and Patroclus rocks a slow pace, and Zagreus can _feel_ Achilles growing closer — harder in him and tense in his arms. 

“You two are quite the painting,” Patroclus says. His voice is smooth as silk, but Zagreus has known him long enough to find the hitches. The tonal change that feels a little more pressed. Gods, if only Zagreus had an all seeing eye. He would love to just watch them _be._ “Are you there, my love?” 

Achilles pushes forwards, then back, and puffs a sound into Zag’s throat. He’s shaking with restraint.

“Forgive me.” 

_“Take it,”_ Patroclus growls, and then Zagreus is bracing against the wall again, gasping as Achilles rocks into him and comes. It’s something he never thought he’d experience in this afterlife. Zagreus locks him tight with his knees, and Patroclus pulls away, and everything is delightfully sticky. 

He holds Achilles as he tenses, shakes, grinds shallowly and then sags against him. It’s art, and it’s such a turn on, Zagreus feels like he’s just _hanging_ off the edge, barely a fingertip on the rocky cliff. He’s throbbing against Achilles’ stomach, leaking like the mess between his legs. 

“Gods Achilles, _gods,_ ” Zagreus curses. He pulls out, and the stickiness makes him flush. “That was — everything.” 

Patroclus pets up Achilles’ bare spine, and down the curve of his ass, urging him to the side. 

“Well done, love.”

“Curse you.”

“Mmm. Shall I take over?” 

The question is directed at Zagreus. He suddenly cannot think of a single thing he’s ever wanted more, and he voices as such. Patroclus smiles at him, Achilles slides to his side, and Zagreus feels his libido re-ignite as Patroclus slicks himself with more oil and lines against him. 

“Be gentle,” Achilles warns. His voice sounds sleepy and fucked out, and it’s like a sin. 

“He’s a god. I think he can take it.” 

“Yes, don’t listen to him,” Zagreus says, tugging Pat closer with his calves. “Fuck me _please._ ” 

“See? He’s even polite.” 

“You two,” Achilles sighs, but hooks his hand in Zag’s thigh and pulls up, and Zagreus groans in relief as he’s filled again, slowly, and a little thicker than before. His eyes roll back, and he grips the sheets with one hand, taking in the burn. 

“He’s still tight,” Patroclus curses, sliding in snug. 

Achilles takes mercy on Zagreus, and wraps his hand around his weeping cock once more. It’s long been abandoned, and Zagreus jumps when he lightly traces the flushed tip, igniting him further. 

“But he’s like silk, dear.” 

_“_ Very _alive,_ ” Patroclus agrees. 

“Stop talking about me like I’m not here,” Zagreus jokes, albeit through gritted teeth. Achilles leans over to look at him, and his eyes are so full of affection, it drops the world out from under him. 

“Forgive us. Force of habit.” 

The insinuation of his words — the idea of them coupling together, wishing Zagreus was there — it’s enough to make him squeeze around Patroclus and cry out dry. 

Patroclus’ breath hitches, and he grips Zagreus tighter, pulling him snug tight on his cock, and Zagreus begs to come, and they let him.   
_  
“That’s it darling, that’s it.”_

_“Hold him tight —“_

_“I am.”_

His feet singe the sheets, where his toes curl and burn. Zagreus arches off the bed, but is held down tight, and everything whites out before color bleeds back in, and he spills right over Achilles’ knuckles.

Patroclus isn’t that far behind. Zagreus is lucky enough to open his eyes again and watch him tense, jerking his head down and coming undone at Achilles’ encouragement. Zagreus wishes he could hear what he’s saying, but the white noise in his head is overwhelming, and he’s barely connected to his body at all, numb to the hand rubbing at his thigh. 

However, he _does_ feel when Patroclus pulls out, and Zagreus makes an annoyed sound. It’s cut off by a short _oof —_ as he feels Patroclus collapse over him and grip tight. 

The skin on skin is delightful. Zagreus clings back to him, and breathes in his hair. The room settles slow, like a wood burning fire.

"I must be dead," Zagreus mulls. Patroclus gives a short shake - an inaudible laugh - but doesn't move yet. 

Achilles sighs, but it sounds pleased. 

“Not yet. I’ll grab a rag. Get comfortable, you’ll be there for a while.” 

Zagreus feels over Patroclus’ form, and settles his hand at his lower back. 

“You’re telling me _Patroclus_ is the cuddler?” 

“Silence please,” Patroclus muffles into his shoulder. “And hurry back, Achilles.” 

Achilles stretches his arms over his head, twists one way, and then looks down at them fondly. Zagreus extends out a hand sleepily, and Achilles is sweet enough to kiss his knuckles. 

“You were a dream, Zagreus. Are you feeling alright?”

“Yes, but uh, do hurry back. I feel a bit like a filled pastry.” 

“You are most definitely ruining the moment,” Patroclus mutters. 

Zagreus laughs, and sorely locks his knees around Patroclus. Achilles rises naked, and he’s stunning to watch. Just stunning. 

“A bath would be better for you,” Achilles says. 

“I could just die?” Zagreus suggests. 

The answer he receives is a unanimous and firm; 

“No.” 

  
  


* * *

They keep a small tub in the bathing room; it doesn’t look like it’s used too often. Achilles tells him a bathhouse chamber isn’t far, but they rarely have the need to use either. It’s more of a _luxury of the afterlife,_ rather than a necessity. However, now is a bit necessary. 

Zagreus heats the water with his feet (perk), and they have to take turns in the bath (less of a perk), but it leads them here, Zagreus sat on the rim of the tub, feet still in the water as Patroclus dozes off on the edge, Achilles dutifully (and a little impatiently) scrubbing through his hair. 

“He crashes quite fast, doesn’t he,” Zagreus says. Achilles hums, and pours the cup over Patroclus’ hair. He’s long bathed and clean, yet the water splashes his fresh robes. 

“He was the same in life. Although, his downtime is much shorter now. I suppose it has much to do with being shades.” 

Zagreus feels his heart squirm around at the mention of it. 

“Achilles...I know you said it wasn't but — well, I can’t help but reason…” 

Achilles stops his combing through Pat’s hair, and regards him with patience. 

“What is it?” 

Zagreus kicks his feet in the tub, and watches the water disturb along the edges. 

“Is this really okay? I mean, this is _your_ afterlife. Your forever after. If there’s no room for me here…” 

Achilles frowns. Patroclus has long fallen asleep, snoring slightly, and Achilles carefully pulls his wet bangs from his face before continuing. 

“To be honest lad...we weren’t entirely truthful with you for the same reason. We thought…” Pause. “Well, _I_ thought you deserved better. I guess I was a coward once more.” 

“No!” Zagreus blurts, and then repeats quieter. “Sorry. I meant — no sir. You two...I…” Zagreus inhales, exhales and looks Achilles in the eye. “This love is true.” 

Achilles looks relieved. He reaches over to tuck Zag’s bang behind his ear, too. 

“Then the risk will be well worth it.” 

Patroclus stirs in the warm tub and sighs, splashing about to pat Achilles on the elbow. 

“You should really start listening to me.” 

“I know dear, I know.” 

* * *

For being in the land of the dead, the House of Hades is full of life. Cerberus barking over the squeak of a new toy, Hypnos working diligently at the line, and Orpheus serenading the hall with more beautiful music. It doesn’t feel as dreary as it used to be. 

Zagreus dies, but he walks out of the Styx with a pep in his step. He stops by the wretched broker, greets Dusa and waves to Than on his way through the hall. Father grumbles something to his parchment, Meg hip-checks him in the hall, and all is well. 

Zagreus finds Nyx and Mother standing by the entrance to the garden, and they both regard him warmly. 

“Welcome home, my child,” Nyx greets. 

“Did you achieve your goal?” Persephone smiles. 

And in that moment, Zagreus feels an intense wave of gratitude wash over him. Both of his mothers are standing close to one another, not enough to touch, but hovering like they might slip away into the garden at a moment's notice, and it makes him smile like a fool. 

“I did, mother. Thank you.”

  
  


* * *

The chain on his heart isn’t so heavy. Aphrodite says as such. 

_“You’re in love!”_ Persephone gasps, through the jaded, distant call of her message. _“Oh, isn’t that just so wonderful!”_

And as much as Zagreus yearns to curse her to hell, he also can’t, because by her power, he’s gained some of the best reasons worth existing for. 

Things don’t have to change, but they do. The underworld was fine as it was, but now it is _better._

Conventionality doesn’t exist when you’re a god. It simply bends to your will. And if that is so, then Zagreus will gladly take the title of god. 

* * *

  
  


Nothing feels as good as weaseling a bottle of ambrosia away from Elysium’s beloved champion. 

Zagreus spins the glass between his fingers, digs his toe in the grass and idly hums as he waits for the door to open. When it does, Patroclus only looks at him blankly. 

“You really need to stop knocking.” 

“Well, that would just be rude.” 

“Can’t have that,” Achilles says, taking him by the hand. “Can’t have all that mud, either.” 

Zagreus shoots them both a wild grin, and follows Achilles further into the house, leaving little embers in his footsteps. 

“I’ll count on you to clean me proper, then.” 

There’s nothing quite like a simple existence. Nothing comparable to Achilles scrubbing his fingers clean, while Patroclus sucks kisses down his throat. 

Even if you threw it all aside — the kisses and the sex and the devoted passion; at the core of it, Zagreus is fulfilled just to lay his head in a lap, and watch them be. 

Achilles reads, sometimes. There might be tea. Patroclus never lets him leave empty handed, and the marks around his neck fade with his eventual death and rebirth.

It wouldn’t take a philosopher to figure out what’s going on between them. 

Many know, but none say a thing, because there are worse crimes than being loved. 

_Ah, life's final cruelty. That we still feel._

**Author's Note:**

> i just think this rarepair is neat. i hope more people write for it ._. 
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/zanzimez)  
> 


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